


Never Again

by fujikawaii10346 (fujibutts)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking, Future Fic, Germany is HRE, Italy can't cope with stress, M/M, Roman Catholicism, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujibutts/pseuds/fujikawaii10346
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veneziano's first love left him with a broken heart after dying during a war over two hundred years ago... Right?   205th Anniversary fic for the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. Warning: HRE GerIta and slightly implied PruFran. Rated T for PruFran..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use
> 
> A/N: This is a slight future fic, set in about 2040-50. Also, possible OOC-ness. Dedz to Doroniasobi for being a ∫amazing∫ (- Guess who just found an epic squiggly?) last-minute beta!
> 
> Warnings: There is a new Pope. Also, when it comes to religion (Catholicism, to be more exact, since it's canon that the Italy brothers are), it uses traditional prayers, but it does have a few changes about the 'Gay-Rights Issue'.

Germany walked up to the calendar and marked off another day. Looking back towards his empty bed, he sighed; 'Two more days and everything will be back to normal.'

...

For as long as Germany could remember, every year, during the first few days of August, especially around the sixth, Italy wasn't the usual perpetually cheery, pasta loving glutton he usually was.

He was... different.

He would lock himself in his room for days, and when Germany would walk by, he would sometimes hear sobbing, or a few stifled mumblings that usually consisted of 'I'm sorry,' or 'I loved you too,' and 'Why didn't I go with you when I had the chance?'. In the mornings, he would sleep in until around an hour before his daily siesta. After that, he would sleep until late, waking up at ungodly hours, only to start crying again. The plates of food Prussia, Germany, and occasionally Austria left for him would go untouched until one of them took it away to make room for the next meal– regardless of whether or not it would get eaten.

After some time, Germany got used to the erratic behavior that Italy would display during this time. But when they first became allies, he made the mistake of going into his room during that week:

_"I'm coming in," Germany warned, but almost gagged when he entered. The stench of alcohol – and was that smoke? – was overwhelming. He frantically scanned the room; only to find the Italian in a corner, knees pulled up to his chest and clutching a bottle of high-proof Russian vodka._

_The German took a cautious step toward the small figure, "I-Italy... Are you okay?"_

_Dull brown eyes glared daggers at him, "Get out of my room!" Italy barked with a surprising amount of force that it caused Germany to flinch._

_He gaped at the nation's anger, which seemed to be directed at him for some unknown reason. He was just about to question the Italian– when an half-empty pack of cigarettes hit him square on the forehead._

_Sure, even if he was human it wouldn't have done anything, but as strong of a nation he was, it was still rather disconcerting to know that Italy was the one who threw it in the first place. "O-Okay then, goodbye Feliciano. I'll go now." Germany half-mumbled as he shut the door, dejected and confused. He didn't even hear Italy gasp back inside the room._

_He stood outside the door, stunned, to say the least. It was about a minute or so after he left that the sobbing returned, harder than before; "I-I'm sorry..."_

...

It goes without saying that Germany– or Ludwig to some– is a very proper, respectable man. It was obvious that Italy was upset about something, and if he hadn't told his closest friend by now, then he obviously wanted to keep whatever it was private.

But Germany also had human emotions– and curiosity was one of them.

So after a hundred odd years, he finally gave in and decided to inquire to somebody about his many unanswered questions.

He certainly couldn't ask Italy... So how about the secon– _third_ best source of information on Veneziano's younger days?

"Oi, Bruder!" Germany pounded on his brother's front door[1]. "East! I need your assistance!"

He could hear bounding footsteps and running water inside the door, 'Do I really want to know what he's been doing in ther–' but the thought was cut short with the opening of the door. "West! Wassup lil' bro?" Prussia asked in all of his awesome, shirtless glory.

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh, "May I come in?"

'I feel like this is going to be a long day...' he added silently.

"Sure! Just stay away from the bed. I really don't think you wanna sit there for a while, kesesese..." the Prussian laughed as he rubbed the back of his silvery-white trimmed head.

Once the two brothers were settled into armchairs opposite one another, Germany decided it was _about time_ to ask his questions, "U-Um, East–" he cleared his throat. "The thing is that... Err... What I'm trying to say is..."

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Bruder... I was wondering if you could answer a few questions?"

"Huh?" Prussia's eyed widened in surprise. "Sure!" So, you finally come to the Awesome Me instead of that stuffy Austria?" A smug grin spread across his pale face.

Germany nodded hesitantly and cleared his throat once more, "S-So, I was wondering, do you happen to know why Italy is acting this way? Also, you're being oddly cooperative. Usually you would be complaining, but you cook and bring up most of his meals even though they're never eaten. And who is Holy Rome? I mean– I know who he is, but I've never met him. Was he Italy's friend? Were they together at some point? And–"

"Whoa, slow down there West!" Prussia held up his arms in a mock gesture of surrender.

Germany blushed.

Prussia laughed at his sibling, but soon enough his vivacious air disappeared, only to be replaced by one much softer... almost sad. "Huh, guess I should've expected these questions to pop up sooner or later... I would've preferred it to be later, but you have a right to know," he paused. "Buuut... I think that it would be better if Francis were here."

"But-!"

"Don't worry, I'll call him. Just wait a little while." The ex-nation gave his little bruder a warm smile before taking his phone out a dialing a very familiar number. "Oi, Francis! Get your ass over here. We gotta talk!"

"Mmm? What for, mon chéri?" A heavily French accented voice could be heard over the receiver.

"I think it's time."

"...You want to make sweet love to both me _and_ Antonio?"

"Wha– no! I meant that I think it's time to tell West about the past."

"Oh! You could 'ave told me! I am in Vienna watching dearest Roderich's performance. I will be right over!" And sure enough, within a matter of minutes[2], the Frenchman was knocking at the door. "Gilbert, 'as the time really come to tell our little Ludwig?"

"Yeah," Prussia nodded almost solemnly as he opened the door.

After the men had once again settled into their seats, Prussia cleared his throat, looking so much more serious than he usually was. "Ludwig..."

* * *

Italy woke to the sound of birds chirping outside his windows and sun shining in his eyes. Groaning, he turned on his side, faintly registering the sound of two bottles clinking against each other.

'Two vodkas, one beer, and one– no, two packs,' he counted in his head, recalling the previous night's binge.

He got up hesitantly, so as to not disturb his slight hangover– and promptly fell back into bed. It was then that he laid his eyes on the wall calendar. It was as if the breath had been taken out of him the same way it would have been if he had been punched in the stomach[3]. He immediately felt an overwhelming sadness grasp his heart so tightly that it was a wonder he did not just break down crying at that moment. "Nggh... shit," he whimpered, gripping his chest as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and staggered out.

Making his way to the bathroom, he clambered into the bath, turning on the tap with his now shaking hands. Reveling in the ice cold water for as long as he could.

'Hopefully this will numb the pain...' he thought scornfully.

Unfortunately, it didn't. He got out of the shower with equal difficulty as when he got in, and stepped out into the drafty hall; not even bothering to wrap a towel around himself. He knew Germany would be avoiding him... At least for the time being.

The Italian pulled on a black dress shirt and similarly colored blazer with matching pants; then he slipped on a sapphire colored tie with gold stripes. 'His hair was kind of gold like this... But this blue isn't nearly as bright as his eyes...'

Once ready, he went to the kitchen to leave a note for Germany saying he'd be gone for a few hours. And with that, he took his leave. Finally outside, he took his trusty Ferrari as fast as it would go back to his land: Northern Italy.

Technically Feliciano and his Fratello shared control over Italy as one governing body, but in reality it was like he was still the northern half while Lovino was still the southern part. Their relationship had gotten better over the years, but one had to keep his territory his, right?

So he headed to Rome towards Basilica Papale di San Peitro in Vaticano, or St. Peter's Basilica as it was more commonly known, at top speed, blazing through the German and Italian countrysides.

He was almost as devout a Catholic as his Fratello, so maybe The Church would help him like it did Romano.

...

The church was beautiful, to say the least. Intricate carvings and delicate paintings decorated the inside of it while grand renaissance period architecture was obviously the main point on the outside.

Italia Veneziano, the nation, could remember when these were being painted, sculpted, built, and blessed some four-hundred years ago. He could also remember most of the past popes, meeting and eventually befriending many of them.

But Feliciano Vargas, the person, was different. He did not remember any of these things as he walked down those hallowed halls. He was there to pray for his fallen love– though they were both male– and despite the fact that they were young and fairly naïve when they professed their love to one another, he knew that they were soul mates.

'What would've happened if I went with him? Maybe we would have died and be up in Heaven together... Or maybe if he never went off in the first place.'

He walked down the middle aisle slow and sure, making sure that he wouldn't suddenly faint. But as he approached the frontmost pew, not a single step was out of place.

He gave a slight bow before sliding into the pew and settling down on a kneeler. He traced an imaginary cross over himself, forehead to abdomen, and both shoulders. He started praying, willing his tongue to form the right words in Latin; a little shaky at first, but soon enough got it and was able to have a one-sided conversation with God, occasionally reciting prayers when the times were appropriate.

_"Pater noster qui es in coelis,_

_sanctificetur nomen tuum;_

_adveniat regnum tuum,_

_fiat voluntas tua,_

_sicut in coelo et in terra._

_Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,_

_et dimitte nobis debita nostra,_

_sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris._

_et ne nos inducas in tentationem_

_sed libera nos a malo._

_Amen.[4]"_

* * *

"So what happened to Holy Rome? Did France kill him?"

"Why does everyone assume that I killed him?"

"Umm, maybe 'cause you were the last to fight him? Not to mention you also beat him. Who the hell wouldn't assume you killed him?"

"Wait, Bruder, France. What happened to him then? Did he... Did he die? Is that why Italy is always so sad around this time? Because he lost his love?"

Both men turned to face the German. It was about four hours that they had been in Prussia's room, explaining to the man what had happened back in the before days. Starting when Italy first came under Austria's control, and ending with the defeat of the Holy Roman Empire. They also covered a few of the little details in the kids' daily life.

_"So, after the renaissance, Italy was... More or less separated in two and was passed around for a while. Everyone wanted a piece of them. But in the end Feli was given to Austria, while his brother was given to Spain."_

_"Oh yes, I remember. No matter 'ow much I wanted my little Italy, I could not 'ave him..."_

_Both Germans looked at France like he was delusional; but Prussia continued on, "So anyways, it was actually the Holy Roman Empire's house, but Austria was pretty much the leader. At the time, there were a few other nations living with him. There was Italy, Holy Rome, Hungary... And a few others that I forget. Let's see, any questions so far?"_

And they continued on in that fashion for another four hours, give or take a few painstakingly slow minutes. In that time, Germany had run his hands through his hair inough times to royally mess it up (by his standards, anyway). So much so that it resembled a certain little empire's hair did back in the day.

"We'll tell you when the time is right, mon ami."

"But didn't you say that 'it was time'?" Germany questioned– air quotes included.

"We meant that it was time to tell you the story, and nothing else. We can do that later. Now, why don't you get moving and wake up Italy? It's probably afternoon already!" And with that, he was shooed out of the room and into the hallway.

* * *

Italy finished off his prayer with the ever-present Sign of the Cross and sat back down on the pew. He stayed there for what seemed like hours staring up at the grand altar, reflecting on what he had been thinking about while praying. But there was only one thing, or person in this case. And that was Holy Rome.

Maybe the Pope could be of help?

He got up from his seat and slid back down the pew. Bowing towards the altar, he turned tail and walked down the aisle again; this time going towards a side door that led to a restricted area[5].

He opened the door and ended up in a system of empty hallways, each step he took echoed against the walls. Needless to say, it was fairly creepy. But soon, he reached his destination. Unfortunately, a pair of large muscle-bound robe-clad men stopped him before he could take another step towards the entrance; "State your name and purpose," one demanded in a gruff voice.

"My name is Feliciano Vargas, but you may know me as Il Settentrione d'Italia[6]," he stated coolly in their native tongue. "Mio fratello maggiore, Italia Meridionale, was here a few days ago. But today, I am here to visit Pope Pius the Thirteenth. I was wondering if you could let me do so?" He gave them a sickly sweet smile, completely fake, but definitely frightening.

He was North-fucking-Italy! And no guard, regardless of what they were guarding, was going to treat him that way when he was this stressed. _Especially_ when he was this stressed.

Both guards blanched, "O-Oh, Mr. Italy. Of course you may pass! We apologize for our behavior."

"It was very rude of us to talk to you that way sir!"

"If you could find it in your heart to forgive us?" In those three short phrases, it was plain to see that both of their voices raised several octaves, abandoning their previous, much more intimidating tones behind.

Italy's expression softened at their display, "Of course. You didn't do anything wrong, it was just your job."

"Thank you sir!" both men bowed and stepped to grab the large gilded handles on either side, pulling the heavy wooden chamber doors open. When Italy was inside, they shut the doors once again.

The room looked like a large office, complete with bookshelves lining the walls, and a fireplace in the corner. An older man with white robes sat by said fireplace reading a book.

It was after about a minute or so, he looked up; "Oh, Feliciano!" He got up and walked towards the Italian, "How nice to see you! Doing well I hope?"

Italy smiled and reached out to hug the man who could only have been the aforementioned Pope Pius the Thirteenth; "I just came from the church. But I was hoping you could help me with something before I left?" The phrase sounded more like a question than a request though.

"Of course!" the older looking man laughed. "Anything for the top half of my favorite country!"

"Grazie, Padre."

"Any time," he grinned at the brunette. "Let's see, it's August... Per chance, are you upset about a certain little empire?"

It was Italy's turn to blanch. "H-How did you know that?"

He smiled knowingly, "Feliciano, you've been coming here every Sunday since the church was built; but ever since the Holy Roman Empire collapsed about two-hundred and fifty years ago, only during August, no matter what the situation would you spend... What, four hours praying? Of course my predecessor mentioned that once or twice."

"Okay," the nation sighed. "You've got me there. Do you happen to have have any advice?"

"Maybe. But to tell you the truth, I see nothing wrong with what you're doing. You're praying for a fallen comrade... And your first love probably?" he cocked an eyebrow at the other man, and the latter just turned a darker shade of red.

"N-Nothing like that!"

The old man just laughed once again, "Don't worry Feliciano! We've become a lot more lenient on that subject in the past few years. I will never, ever judge you, or anyone else for that matter. And always remember, if you need something, you can come to me. After all, it's my job to help guide the country, and the rest of The Church in religious matters. So, are you sure about your answer, or do you have a different one– also, keep in mind that thou shall not bear false witness," he added with a sly grin.

The Italian seemed to deflate, despite the priest's reassurance. The gripping sensation had come back to his heart with a vengeance. "H-He was my first and only love. I know that he's dead, and I would never think of putting all of the blame on France. It was a battle, and Fratello France just happened to be the one to deliver the final blow. He was so torn up from war..." he stopped and let out a choked sob. "It would've happened eventually.

"Germany looks so much like Holy Rome that it's painful to look at him sometimes. I have fun with him, and I occasionally push that fact into the back of my mind– but in August... In August, the pain is just too much to bear. I avoid him at all cost, and he avoids me too, if just for one week out of the year. But I know he's still confused. Confused and hurt. And I know that he has questions for me too! But he just won't ask me...

"Arrgh, this is so frustrating!" Italy reached up and started pulling at his brunette locks, "Padre, do you have anything that might help?"

"Well," the priest rubbed his chin with a wrinkled hand, "it seems to me like you need do to penance. Now come on and do the Act of Contrition with me."

"O-Okay."

_"Deus meus,_

_Paenitet me peccatorum meorum in corde meo._

_In eligendo iniuriam facitis_

_et deficientibus ad faciendum bonum, quoniam peccavi tibi_

_Firmiter proponimus, et ad poenitentiam noli peccare, ne quid umquam et ducit me ad peccandum._

_Salvator noster Iesus Christus pro nobis passus et mortuus._

_In nomine Dei, miserere mei._

_[7]"_

"When was it since your last penance?"

"Easter."

"Please continue."

"Padre, I.. I want to apologize for being so irrational. Taking my frustrations and using them as an excuse for abusing the use of unhealthy things like cigarettes and alcohol. I'm sorry for being so distant towards Germany and my other friends. I'm sorry for thinking of only myself and Holy Rome. I'm sorry for being so weak... I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay, from what I've learned these past years is that you are an amazing and kind old man. You're just distraught. I will have you do... One 'Our Father', one 'Hail Mary', one 'Glory Be' and... You have to tell Mr. Germany your feelings.

_"Deus Pater misericordiarum,_

_per mortem et resurrectionem Filii Sui,_

_reconciliavit sibi mundum_

_et misit Spiritum sanctum in nobis in remissionem peccatorum per_

_ministerium Ecclesiae det tibi Deus placatus et pacem,_

_et absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti._

_Amen.[8]_

"Now go. I know you are strong, Feliciano."

"Grazie... Grazie Padre," he gave the man one last smile before exiting back out into the main church.

* * *

"He's still not here. I guess I should make dinner now," the blonde said to himself as he slipped on his apron and began the potato and wurst meal.

...

Germany had just finished setting three plates on the table, and one on a tray, when the front door creaked open.

He set one of the plates down and started frantically drying his hands on a rag, almost ready to duck behind the counter. Naturally, Italy made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water or something of the sort. Furtunately, or unfortuanately, he moved a little too quick for Germany to get a chance to hide.

There they stood, frozen in place, looking at each other; both wearing the same surprised expression – though the German's was more mortified.

Italy's neat clothes were slightly wrinked, his bloodshot eyes stood out against his tear streaked face, and his hair was tousled – but Germany's was too.

It stung at his heart, the resemblance between the two. But the Italian bit back the pain as he took a step forward.

"I-Italy?"

No response.

"Feli–" but the breath was knocked right out of him when a sobbing Italian tackled him, sending both of them to the ground.

"L-Ludwig! Germany! I'm sorry! Please forgive me! Es tut mir leid! Mi dispiace! Paenitet!"

"Italy! Get a hold of yourself!" the blonde snapped, and the smaller man let out a small whimper. Germany wrapped his arms around Italy and sat up against the counter, "What are you talking about?" he continued in a much softer tone.

"Ludwig..." Italy just barely choked out, burying his face in the soft cotton of the other man's shirt. "I'm so sorry for being so mean to you! It's just... H-Holy Rome died around this time of year. He was my f-first love! You– you just look so much like him that it hurts me someti– sometimes!" he broke down, anguished sobs wracking through his slim frame.

Oh. Right.

"Shhh..." he whispered, threading his fingers through the dark auburn hair. "Bruder told me... But don't worry. I like Germany the way it is. I don't want to expand." he pulled the slighter man closer, adding almost inaudibly: "I will never leave you."

* * *

"Damn! My ass'll hurt like hell tomorrow!" a certain red eyed ex-nation rubbed his sore rear-end as he pulled his pants up.

"Stop complaining, mon amour. I believe it is I who will suffer the most tomorrow," the Frenchman drawled from where he laid buck naked on the bed (that severely needed a new headboard, by the by).

"Whatever. Now get yer clothes back on, West probably needs help with dinner," Prussia threw a pile of clothes at the other man.

"Fine..." France got up and winced, pulling on a stylish pair of slacks. Neither man bothered to put on a shirt, knowing that right after dinner they would be right back down in the Prussian's room.

The two were silent as they made their way to the kitchen; "Hey We–"

Germany put a finger to his lips and made a shushing noise at the two. "He's finally asleep." He smiled at the figure curled up in his lap, lips perked up in a painful looking smile, clinging desperately to the blonde's neck.

The Prussian smiled, "Bring him to his room then come back downstairs and we'll tell you the rest of the story."

Germany's eyes widened. "Of course!"

* * *

"So Bruder, what happened?" Germany was practically shaking with anticipation. _Finally!_

"Ohonhon, you should know what happened! Did my little Italy not tell you yet?"

"What? Tell me!" he demanded.

Prussia tried to bite back a laugh, but failed, "Kesesese, West, you're Holy Rome!"

The blonde gaped at the other two men, head swiveling back and forth from the two of them as if watching a tennis match. After a few seconds of this, he seemed to have finally settled on a few words: "What are you talking about?"

His Bruder laughed once more, "France didn't kill you. He just beat you up a bit. And apparently–" Prussia hit the Frenchman before continuing– "he hit you hard enough to make you lose all of your memories. So I, being the awesome me, found you on the battlefield all torn up. I took you in, and after years and years... Here we are! Questions?"

The German stood there, old forgotten memories rushing back to him–

_"Become one with me!"_

_"No! You'll just end up like Grandpa Rome! He died because he became too big to manage..."_

–he suddenly dashed up the stairs and opened the door–

_"I-Italy, will you teach me how to paint?"_

–he ran through the house, and up another flight of stairs, heading straight for he Italian's room at the end of the hall–

_"I'll wait for you Holy Rome! I'll make you delicious sweets every day!"_

–stopping abruptly at the door, he quietly turned the knob; expecting Italy to be sound asleep. But he was not.

He was definitely up. He was back in that corner between the closet door and bookcase, nursing a bottle of vodka. Sobbing...

It was heart wrenching.

"Italy..." Germany approached cranny; bending down, he picked up the other man, plucking the bottle out of his hands in the process and setting him down on the soft bed.

"G-Get out..." Italy repeated, like the time a hundred-some years before. But this time, it didn't have nearly as much venom.

"Italy..." he pulled said man into his lap. "Stop crying," Germany half-pleaded as he leaned in and kissed the tear-streaked cheeks.

"G-Germany!" Italy blushed.

"No... Don't call me that."

He looked towards the German, "What then? Ludwig?"

"No... Think back."

"Umm... Führer?" he answered– still uncertain.

"N-No," Germany suddenly stuttered, taken aback at the obvious reference to at one of their earliest wars together. "Further. When you were sill living with Austria," he urged.

"Oh, b-but... I don't think you were even around then."

"Germany the country wasn't, but I was."

"Y-You were?" Italy looked up to stare at the German with a questioning expression. "What were you call..." then his amber eyes widened in realization.

"You stopped making those sweets of yours..."

"Y-You can't be!" the Italian dove back onto the bed and away from Germany. "Holy Rome died years ago!"

"Holy Rome... The name may have changed, but he's right here."

Italy stared at Germany before rushing out of the room, trusting in the fact that he knew the other man long enough to that he wouldn't lie. He made his way down to the large pantry and found what he was looking for in a small wax paper bag– and as quickly as he left, he came right back to where Germany was. "I never stopped making them. Every year I go down to the battle site and drop off these sweets. But now..."

"Now," Germany continued, "you can give them to me in person." He smiled warmly as the Italian dove at him once more.

"Ti amo Holy Rome!" Italy whispered as he buried his face in the German's neck. "I knew you were too strong to die then!"

"Yes... Apparently I was. But now I'm Germany, and we can finally be toge–" and for the third time that day, he was cut off. But this time, it was a good thing. He wrapped his arms around the brunette to deepen their kiss.

"What was that for?" He asked once they were separated.

"To pick up where we left off from when you had to leave for war!" Italy stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh right..." Germany blushed at the now very clear memory.

Italy giggled, "Now we can finally have our happily ever after!" He yawned, and snuggled even closer.

Germany simply sighed as he kissed the smaller man's forehead before joining him in the first peaceful night's sleep they'd had in a week; "Happily ever after... I think I like that."

Meanwhile outside in the hallway...

"'Sappily ever after' is more like it!"

"Oh, shut up. L'amour is in the air!"

"Sure, whatever. I knew West and Italy were meant 'ta be!"

"Of course mon cher! Love that transcends gender. The ages... And even death! Now that's what I call true love is."

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Read: Germany's basement
> 
> [2] Since they're nations, let's say that they can travel long distances easier! Like Italy and Japan did in that one episode in World Series!
> 
> [3] During my editing process I felt an urge to put the word neck instead of stomach. Free internetz if you know what I'm referring to! (Hint: It's Hetalia related!)
> 
> [4]I'm not sure if it's the King James Version of The Bible, (Matthew 6:9-13), but this is the Our Father in Latin
> 
> Our Father which art in heaven,  
> Hallowed be thy name.  
> Thy kingdom come,  
> Thy will be done  
> in earth, as it is in heaven.  
> Give us this day our daily bread.  
> And forgive us our debts,  
> as we forgive our debtors.  
> And lead us not into temptation,  
> but deliver us from evil;  
> Amen
> 
> [5] To tell you the truth, I have no idea if there is a restricted area in the Basilica.
> 
> [6] The North of Italy
> 
> [7] It's the Act of Contirtion in Latin. I used google translate, so if you know it in Latin and you see a mistake somewhere, just PM me and I'll fix it as soon as possible.
> 
> My God,  
> I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.  
> In choosing to do wrong,  
> and failing to do good, I have sinned against you  
> I firmly intend, to do penance and to sin no more, and to avoid what ever leads me to sin.  
> Our savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us.  
> In his name, my God, have mercy.
> 
> [8] The words of Absolution in the Latin right, according to Wikipedia, and eventually Google Translate.
> 
> God the Father of mercies,  
> through the death and resurrection of his Son,  
> has reconciled the world to himself  
> and sent the Holy Ghost in us by the remission of sins  
> ministry of the Church was merciful and God give thee peace,  
> and absolve from your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy Spirit.  
> Amen
> 
> Haha! Of course France had to end it with a mini-speech about l'amour... So! How was it? First oneshot to pass the 5K word mark... Yay!
> 
> So... This took me... A long time. And by a long time, I mean... I can't even remember when I started it. And by I can't even remember when I started it, means... I think I started this... Early this year. Yeah, seriously. And it didn't come out like I wanted it to, so I hope you'll settle for this. Fail. Ehh... This was written specifically to be posted on this say since... It's the 205th anniversary of the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire! Woo... Yeah. Uhh... Do I have anything else to say? Umm, leave a comment/review/critique/language correction– but if you do choose to flame, I might just use them to bake you some cookies! (That I will lace with arseni– I mean cyanid– LOVE AND HAPPINESS! Yeah, that's totally what I meant!


End file.
